


Breathe

by sillyboyblue



Category: The Hitcher (1986)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sillyboyblue/pseuds/sillyboyblue
Summary: "Breathe with me, okay ? In... Out... In... Out... In..."





	

Jim had been driving for hours. Ever since John had escaped from the police van that was supposed to transfer him to another police station, they had stopped their sick little game and stuck together. They were wanted men. They had agreed on laying low for a while. Then they would find a solution to permanently stop hiding from the police. John suggested leaving the country and living under new names. Jim found this idea a little too radical.

They stopped by a motel in the late hours of the afternoon. They asked for a single room with a double bed and went to the café to grab a snack.

There was no one inside except for a man who was smoking a cigar. Jim frowned at him and decided he would not like him. He did not like those who smoked cigars. Only the bad guys in movies did that. He walked up to him and asked :

"Could you please put it out ?"

The man let out an ugly laugh. John raised an eyebrow. He did not like this man either. He felt nothing but disgust toward this human being. He stepped in, waiting to intervene if the man attempted anything against Jim.

"Why should I take orders from a little brat like you ?"

Jim bit the inside of his cheek to remind himself not to start a fight. His fists were clenched by his side.

"My friend has breathing problems. Put it out."

The smoker cracked a smile as he took his cigar out of his mouth and turned on his seat to face John.

"As if I care..."

He blew smoke into John's face. Immediately, John backed up to the far end of the café. Jim cried out :

"You bastard ! You could kill him !"

He ran to John who was having a bad coughing fit. Hopefully it stopped soon enough and John took a long breath of relief.

"Wait for me outside," Jim ordered, "I'll get us both something to eat and drink."

John knew he could not protest, nor was he going to. The stranger seemed ready to asphyxiate him again.

Jim got out of the café five minutes later with donuts and a vanilla and a strawberry milkshake.

"I didn't know which one you'd prefer. I like both so choose the one you want."

John eyed the donuts and realized he was hungry. He had not drunk a milkshake in years.

"I think I'll go with the strawberry one."

Jim passed him what he had asked for and they went to their room.

They ate in silence, still thinking about the incident with the cigar-smoking fucker.

Jim hated the motel. He found the air nasty, smelling of cigarettes and blunts. The atmosphere of a place was very important to him and he made sure to always pick the best, when he had the choice.

He was now lying on his bed with his arms crossed over his stomach. John had gone outside to take a walk about ten minutes ago. As he was not coming back, Jim got to the door. He heard someone coughing and spitting.

"John ?"

His heart skipped a beat as he opened to door to find him doubled over, hacking his lungs out. Jim rubbed his back soothingly. He could feel his lungs heaving everytime he coughed and it hurt him to imagine in how much pain John had to be.

"John... It's going to be okay..."

It was not the first time it happened to him. The first time, they were both smoking. From this day on they never smoked again. Jim slapped John's chest gently. He remembered this gesture from when he was a little boy and his friend had asthma. Apparently it helped remove the particles stuck in the lungs.

"Breathe with me, okay ? In... Out... In... Out... In..."

After two long minutes, John could breathe properly again. His face was flushed and his eyes shone with tears. He panted for an instant, then smiled at Jim.

"You were right, the air is bad. We should leave tomorrow."

Jim looked down at the spit on the ground and froze. It was mixed with light red blood.

"John...?"

His voice was shaking. He did not want to believe what he saw. He knew John's lungs were in bad shape, but not that bad.

"Yes ?"

Had John noticed that he was spitting out his own blood ? Apparently not, or he was good at hiding his emotions.

"You spat out blood."

Jim felt like crying. He did not know what it meant, and he was afraid to guess.

"I know."

John was dying. Jim wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him tightly. He also wanted to be held against his chest and to listen to his heartbeat. But above all he wanted to scream.

"You are not going to die," Jim said without much hope, "Are you ?"

It broke John's heart to see his little Jim so helpless. He did not know if he should lie to him.

"We should go back inside. It's getting cold."

Soon night fell and once they could not find anything interesting on the TV they went to sleep.

Jim woke up to the sound of suppressed coughing. Jim rolled on his side and yawned.

"Don't keep it in," he slurred, "let it out."

He sat up in the bed to face John. The man did not look well. He was sickly pale and his eyes shone from the fever. Despite Jim's words he did not cough.

"John ?"

There was no answer. Jim noticed how John's hands were clawing at his chest, how his eyes looked like they would pop out of his head and how his face had turned purple. He gasped and stuttered.

"John... I-It's going t-to be okay...!"

He began slapping John's chest, but nothing happened. His lungs were clogged and air barely made it into them. He hit harder, until he punched him in the chest repeatedly while sobbing uncontrolably. He yelled :

"Help ! Please, help me ! He's suffocating !"

His desperate call fell on deaf ears. He kept hitting John's torso until he heard a crack and he knew he had broken one of his ribs. John opened his mouth to cry but no sound came out of it. His eyes rolled back into his head as Jim watched with horror. John was leaving him.

"Help !"

Nobody cared about the dying man. Jim stopped punching him and took his hand. It was cold.

"Breathe with me.. In... Out... In... Out... In-"

John stopped coughing. Jim felt relief as he figured out John's lungs had begun working again. Until he noticed John was not breathing at all. His skin was cool to the touch and his eyes were open and unfocused.

Jim sobbed and shook him gently.

"Come on, breathe with me... In... Out..."

He slapped him softly to try and wake him up. It did not work.

"In... Out... In... Out..."

Jim cried on John's chest. He could not hear his heartbeat. He wanted to be held by him.

"In... Out... In... Out... In..."

John was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I gave John a lung failure. I hate myself sometimes.


End file.
